


Breath of Light

by Hydrasnixed



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 15:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20084737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hydrasnixed/pseuds/Hydrasnixed
Summary: Endgame oneshot. A night in Tokyo.





	Breath of Light

They didn't go straight home. 

Natasha booked them into a hotel. A nice place... there were still a few of them left in Tokyo and she had no objection to spending Tony Stark's money. 

Kingsize bed, room service, mini bar and a balcony. High above the city streets, Natasha could almost believe that the world hadn't changed...

... buildings hadn't burned.

... planes hadn't fallen out of the sky. 

... Families hadn't turned to dust.

Clint went straight to the shower. Steam billowed through the partially open door. He didn't lock it. She had the feeling that the high, wide open spaces were calling to him. She was pretty certain he would have set up camp on the roof if he could have found a way. 

The hiss of water faded and Natasha turned her back to the bathroom door. She'd left clothes on the bed. Soft sweats and that ratty grey hoodie that had passed backwards and forwards between them over the years. He'd got it in Budapest... or she had? 

Natasha could see him in the mirror. Towel slung low across his hips. Body glistening with the droplets of water that he'd failed to wipe away. The ink on his left arm stood out against pale skin that had strayed too far from the light... for too long. She could see his ribs, stark against muscle. There were new scars. Lots of them. Thin lines criss-crossing his chest, his thighs. He pulled the hoodie over his head. It was too big for him now. 

'I'll order room service,' she said. 

Burger and fries. A staple wherever they found themselves. Maybe later they could try the sushi. 

Natasha took off her boots and socks. Flopping backwards onto the bed. She contemplated her thick twisted toenails. There was a spa here. She could get a pedicure, a massage. She could pretend for a while that the world hadn't changed. 

Clint flung open the doors to the balcony. Rain was still falling outside, softening and blurring the city lines. Half the world was drowning. Half the work was baking. Environmentalists blamed it on the Snap. In that brief second, when half the workforce had turned to dust, kilo tonnes of toxic chemicals had been expelled into the atmosphere. Deep in the heart of Russia, a nuclear reactor had gone critical. Natasha Romanoff had wept for her country. 

A knock. Polite. Discrete. Natasha opened the door and let the man in. Crisp white shirt and a black jacket. He nodded to both of them before setting their meal down on the table. He removed the silver domes with a flourish. She signed the cheque, tipping him in cash. He'd remember the money but not the woman who'd given it to him. No one here would ask any questions. 

'Help yourself,' she said.

Clint held back, waiting for her to take the first bite. Only then did he grab a handful of fries, taking them out onto the balcony, turning away from her as he stuffed them into his mouth. Natasha set her burger down. She wasn't hungry any more. 

'Shower,' she said.

Shutting herself in the bathroom, Natasha sank down onto the toilet seat and let her head drop into her hands. No tears. She'd been so strong for so long now that she couldn't let herself cry. Clint needed her, he needed the Black Widow. The man had lost everything that meant a damn to him... her fingers ghosted over the arrow nestling at her throat. 

'Nat?'

He was knocking at the door. How long had she been sitting there?

'Nat?'

'Just a minute.'

She turned the water on. As hot as it would go. Stripping her clothes off, she stepped under the stream. It was barely lukewarm. As she slicked her body with generic hotel soap the water faded to a trickle. Natasha slammed her hand against the cooling tiles. Again and again until the dribble of water water ran red. 

'Nat? Nat?'

The door cracked open. Clint's eyes were closed, she noticed. He felt his way into the bathroom, snagging a towel off the rail and waving it in her general direction. There had been a time when he wouldn't have been so careful. When he would have barged straight in if he thought for a second that she needed him. 

She took the towel, binding it around her bruised, bloodied hand. 

'I slipped,' she said, flexing her painful fingers. 

'If you say so.'

He handed her another towel, closing the door softly on his way out. 

Natasha's body barely felt clean but she dried herself off anyway. She needed to sleep. She'd been hyped up on adrenalin for so long that she was starting to crash... badly. If Clint hadn't been there she probably would have curled up on the bathroom floor and slept where she fell. 

He was sprawled on the bed, eyes screwed shut, chest rising and falling. The slow, even breaths would have fooled most people but Natasha knew that Clint never rested that easily. Neither of them did. The muscles in his shoulders tensed as he sensed her presence. The balcony doors were still open, letting in the humid night air. Natasha left them that way. It was an escape route of sorts... if he needed one. 

She slipped into shorts and a tank top. Bed or couch? 

Clint rolled over, leaving half the bed free. An invitation? A promise? The hoodie had ridden up and she could see the bleak outline of another tattoo spreading across his back. Natasha turned off the light and slipped beneath the smooth cotton sheet. The mattress didn't shift, something she hadn't expected. It felt like she was lying on a plank. She must have groaned or something because 

Clint lifted his head from where it had been buried in one of the pillows. 

'Why didn't you call?' he said. 

Natasha shifted onto her side, trying to ease the ache in her hips. 

'You were under house arrest.'

It was an excuse, not a reason. She hadn't called because... Natasha couldn't remember why exactly. Something to do with Sovakia, maybe? 

'I watched my family turn to dust. Do you have any idea what that was like?'

'Wanda, Maria, Bucky...'

'Not the same'

He planted his face back into the pillow. Muffling his words so that she had to strain to hear them. 

'I didn't know what was happening. I didn't know why. I didn't...'

His spine heaved and she thought for a moment that he was going to throw up. When he finally looked up his blue eyes were clouded. 

'We were out in the back field. The boys were playing catch. Laura was putting mayo on the hot dogs again.' 

'That's disgusting.'

'I know.'

Natasha smiled, Laura Barton's culinary experiments were the stuff of legend. Self preservation drove Clint to take over kitchen duties when he was home. 

'Lila was shooting arrows. She was getting good, really good...'

Warm sun, a gentle breeze, the scent of hot grass. Laughter... lots of laughter. And then Natasha remembered. Yes. That was the reason.

'You were happy, Clint,' she said. 'You'd finally found peace. I didn't have the right to change that.'

'The right? Damn it Nat, I could have put an arrow through Thanos' fat ugly skull. End of problem.'

'It wasn't that simple...'

'Seems that way to me. Kill the bad guys. That's what we trained for... right?'

She felt a flicker of anger deep within her belly. 

'And that's what you've been doing for five years? Because I saw the bodies, Clint. I saw the people you massacred... That wasn't training.'

'Maybe I learned it from someone else?'

He might as well have punched her in the gut. 

'It's too damn hot in here.' 

Clint hauled himself up off the bed, lunging across the room to switch the aircon to full. He stripped off the hoodie. She could see his back tattoo now. A hawk, wings spread, talons extended... a hunter.   
Natasha stood up, pressing her cheek against his ink-stained skin. 

'Sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean...'

She kissed the spot between his shoulder blades. 

'Me too.'

Her words vibrated through his skin. She slipped her arms around him, easing his head round so that he was looking at her. His eyes dropped to her mouth. 

'We'll get them back, Clint.'

'Don't make promises you can't keep.'

The little hope she held in her heart faded. 

'I can't do this without you,' she said. 

'Why? There's nothing special about me. I'm not a god, or a super soldier or a... what was it? Millionaire, playboy, philanthropist? I'm not super smart... I'm just the bow and arrow guy.'

She hated it when he made like he was worthless. Hunched over and hurting, the bird on his back looked like it was dying. 

'Laura, the kids... they were all I had.'

'No... Clint.'

When he looked up, she rested her palm on his cheek, moving slowly upwards. The trace of stubble was soft beneath her fingers. She tangled her fingers in the thickness of his hair. He turned his head, pressing his mouth to her palm, the pulse point on her wrist. His tongue flicked out to taste her. 

'Nat?'

He drew back, eyes focussed on her mouth again. She nodded and he bent his head, letting his lips brush against hers. His hand fell to her waist, slipping up and under the tank top she wore. There was a new roughness in his touch. Calluses that formed from using a sword and not a bow. She knew he was deadly with either. He brushed brushed the underside of her breast. The gentle pressure of his mouth became more insistent, lips and tongue and teeth. 

Natasha open up to him, needing this more than she thought was possible. His body was so warm and tight against hers. He centred her, grounded her. She felt like she'd been drifting for so long. His teeth descended on her neck, nipping, sucking, biting. He was leaving his mark. Her nails dug into his shoulders, inflicting her own brand of pain. 

He dragged her closer, pulling at her hips until they were flush with his. Outside the rain was still falling. Thunder crashed overhead, drowning out the sounds she was making. The soft sighs, the little moans. He bit down again and she cried out. God he was good at this. Laura was a lucky...

Natasha stepped back. His eyes were still shrouded with grief. 

'This isn't a good idea,' she said. 

'I know.'

His frenzied touch slowed to a soft caress. Clint's hands returned to her hair, twining the red blonde strands around his fingers. Sometimes sex felt like a meaningless boundary, a line that their bodies never dared cross. Their hearts, however...

They moved to the bed. Curling around each other just as they'd done a hundred times before. A twist of arms and legs. Breathing in his familiar scent, Natasha relaxed for what felt like the first time in five years. 

She slept.

>>>>>>>>>

Natasha woke to bacon, coffee and a sweet stack of French toast. Sunlight streamed through the windows, almost obscuring the brightest of blue skies.

He was standing outside. Silhouetted against the morning sun. 

'Hey,' she said, running her fingers through his hair so it stuck up in the way she was sure his barber had wanted. 

'Hey.'

He looked better. The shadows had lifted slightly. Of course, it might also have had something to do with the plates from last night's aborted attempt at dinner having been wiped clean. 

'We okay?' he said, touching the spot on her shoulder where a livid bruise had formed. She might have been able to pass it off as a workout injury... if it hadn't been for the teeth marks. 

'Yeah, yeah we are.'

Clint took her hand. He tugged, pulling her close enough that he could slip his arm about her shoulders. She felt his lips graze her skin. 

'Love you, Nat,' he whispered. 

'Love you too.'


End file.
